


Trouble is Her Game

by bluebell3



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward John, BAMF John, BAMF John Watson, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Reference to drug/alcohol abuse, Sherlock AU, Sibling Rivalry, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebell3/pseuds/bluebell3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Mycroft have a younger sister who has just graduated with honors from Dartmouth College. Being unable to attend the actual graduation ceremony, the boys agree to participate in the combination graduation/welcome home party at the Holmes estate. Aya (their younger sister) decides to make it her own personal goal to make John come out of his shell. Or make him feel so awkward that he just admits defeat and admits to, well, everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pizza is King.

My name is Aya Antoinette Lynn Holmes. No, my parents actually love me very much. Thank you for asking. Yes. I'm the younger sister of  _the_ Sherlock Holmes, the one in London with the absolutely ridiculous deerstalker. No. I will not give you his mobile number, no I do not know what his "size" is, yes he really always has been like this, yes I get asked these questions a lot. No, I am studying astronomy because I think it is interesting, not because I like to tease Sherlock. **  
**

One of those was a lie.

Yes it was the last one.

Anyway. I recently graduated from Dartmouth College in Hanover, NH with my Bachelors of arts degree for Linguistics (don't ask me if I know every language, that's a stupid question and you know it) I also have another bachelors degree for Astronomy, Ancient History, I also lost a bet with Sherlock and had to get a degree in something that I don't wish to speak about. My parents were able and willing to fly across the Atlantic to witness a slightly pointless ceremony but my older brothers were unable to detach themselves from their work. So now my mother is throwing this grandiose celebration of my newest piece of fancy paper. I love her dearly. I have probably repeated that over two thousand times as she goes on about all the people she has already invited. Did I mention that I'm typing this on a plane ride? There's no where to go on a plane. You're stuck in your seat for a very, very long time (seven hours and two minutes). I love my mother, I love my mother. 

She's invited my entire family. That's at least 30 people there. I invited a few of my old friends from sixth form, that's only another five, then there's Sher and Mickey, so only 37 so far, oh. I almost forgot John, Sherlock's boyfriend-not-boyfriend-blogger. 38, hm. Either the champagne they gave me is spiked or this isn't going to be so bad.

Just asked my father if he spiked my drink with anything. The bastard is grinning from ear to ear. 

I love my mother dearly, I love my mother dearly. I hope my father has more of whatever he put in my drink or this is going to be a long week.

~~~

It should be fucking lunchtime. But no. It's five in the effing afternoon in London! So instead of being able to get a pizza I have to sit in the traffic around Heathrow. My father is already beginning his afternoon nap and my mother is content to play one of her social media games on her mobile. 

I pulled out my phone and texted Mycroft.

_Last time I came home you had Anthea pick me up. -aa_

_Well last time you didn't have mummy with you. Whose fault is that sister mine?_

_Definitely yours Mick. Sher in town? is he by Heath? OO! IS HIS BOYFRIEND WITH HIM?? :D -aa_

I could hear Mycroft allow himself a small grin at my text, I knew this because his response was delayed.

_Yes, yes and what do you think little one. Of course the blogger is with him. So very protective since M._

My smile faded for a moment at the mention of the fairytale villain. Such a sad, dark soul.

_Think you could break your diet to get pizza with your favorite redhead? -aa_

_Always, sister mine. Next light is going to turn red, get your bag ready, I will text you where Sherlock is, quite interesting crime scene, you'll enjoy it._

_love you mick. -aa_

His only reply was the address that was only a few blocks away, an easy walk. I grabbed my bag, gave mum and dad a quick kiss, then hopped out of the taxi with a hurried explanation. 

Being only 1.6 meters and 50kg (5'2" and 110lbs) I'm rather small and have to avoid being squished on busy sidewalks, but my large purple jumper gave me some elbow room in the crowds, as did my raggedy knapsack.

The walk was easy, hardly five minutes to the crime scene. I quickly tamed my dark red curls into a long braid and pushed my glasses back into a comfortable position on my nose. I loved my glasses, they distracted people from my eye color (an almost purple sort of blue, don't ask, genetics are weird and I'm bored by explaining already.)

I walked right up to the yellow tape and began to duck under it when an unfamiliar voice halted me, "Miss, I'm sorry but you're going to have to stay back. There is a murder investigation going on."

I looked up at the officer and smiled, "I know that, I also know that you had your wisdom teeth out last week and your stitches are bothering you, your dentist is left handed, your wife is going blind in her left, no! Right eye, it's treatable mind you, and you decided to give up smoking. By the way! I'm Aya Holmes and I'd like to see my brother so please allow me to go surprise him."

Surprisingly the man was silent. So I walked around him and into the house, almost immediately running into Greg Lestrade. "Hey Greg, miss me?"

The detective inspector jumped, "Bloody hell! Aya, oh you little bother! How're you?"

I grinned and accepted his large hug, "Good! I'm home for good-ish. Where's Sher?"

"Upstairs, have fun, don't t-"

"Touch anything, I remember, no worries."

I ran up the flight of stairs, and soon heard my brother's frustrated grumblings about the quality of evidence.

"Well if you got off your lazy arse and got to crime scenes quickly you wouldn't have to deal with The Yard disrupting evidence, easy solution."

Sherlock was hunched over a piece of furniture with his magnifying glass, but quickly snapped back to vertical when he heard me speak, "They keep failing to notify me promptly. Unless Lestrade needs me I am overlooked, much like you are little one."

He turned and gave me his smirking smile, but allowed his arms to open a fraction so I could hug him. He was a lot less skinny than when I had seen him two years ago. John was making him eat, and shop for groceries apparently, there was a grocer receipt inside his jacket pocket.  _Good job blogger boy. You've done something mummy couldn't do._ _  
_

"Sher, since when do YOU go buy groceries? And use hair product? Getting a bit gay aren't you?" grinning, I turned and looked at the crime scene.

There was a tie for who looked more incredulous, blogger boy or the dead body. The deceased was losing unfortunately, and the case was an easy close, I could tell by the position of the furniture and body. I looked closer at John, khakis, sensible shoes, simple polo shirt and windbreaker. He had recently started styling his hair, but the product made his scalp itch so that would be over soon. 

His facial expression was jealousy, curiosity, a bit of romantic interest and then a healthy dose of panic. My grin couldn't have been any bigger. It was quite obscene I'm sure. But hey, it's fun to make John feel a bit awkward yeah?

"Sher, this one's easy, just let them figure it out. Mick will be here soon to take us to get pizza. Please?" my patented baby sister pout came into play, "It's my first day back home from the colonies, my accent has gone all wonky, pleaaaase?"

He was refusing to look at me, but that's kind of hard when your little sister is no more than an inch away from you, jumping up and down pouting and saying "please" over and over.

"Christ Aya. Fine, I'll get pizza with you. Only because you have to deal with mummy when you get home."

John's incredulous look just kept getting more and more obvious. "What Johnny boy? You thought I was his girlfriend? I'm his beautiful baby sister," I smiled and hugged Sherlock, squishing my face up against his arm. 

"Great, just what the world needs, a female Holmes….." John ruffled his hair and continued to stare at me confusedly.

"It's okay John, at least I'm not a consulting detective, or the british government. THAT would be catastrophic, Just think, Mick and I fighting about what to do with Wales over the kitchen table… We'd probably end up throwing the mashed potatoes."

Sherlock shook his head and lead us downstairs, "Ask her what she does John, that is sure to give you a headache. Trust me."

I bounced down the stairs backwards, eagerly waiting for the army doctor to ask the question.

With a sigh, "Alright, Aya was it?"

I nodded,

"Aya, what do you do for a living, or hobby, or whatever?"

"I correct translations of dead languages, translate almost every language on the planet, and occasionally work as a reference for movie makers as to the correct pronunciations of fictional languages. Like Lord of the Rings and such."

"So, you're telling me that you're pretty much a walking dictionary."

"Yup!! This dictionary wants pizza so lets go!" I turned around and continued to follow the giant that is my brother while the flabbergasted blogger stumbled in the back.

"Next time A, let the poor man have the easy version of your career, he does me no good in this state," Sherlock muttered over his shoulder.

"Which one? The translator one, the astronomy one or the history one?"

"Whichever one makes you happy little bird."

"I like the confusing one. It makes me very happy, so does confusing your blogger."

I could almost hear his eyes roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kinda writing this for me, I love the idea of The Holmes Brothers having a little sister and dealing with her chaos!


	2. Shakespeare was Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aya and I both love pizza. And people being happy. We find that Mycroft and Sherlock have a peculiar way of retaliating against Aya's teasing, and that sometimes it's best to just let teasing go unpunished. John and Aya start bonding, in her own weird ass-backwards way.

I am beginning to think that our entire family has a knack for three things, 1. Making everyone feel inferior 2. Dramatic entrances and 3. Finding one human in the entire world that is capable of dealing with our bullshit. It's quite miraculous really. Anthea is incredibly vital to Mycroft, he pretends not to notice how much she does for his behind the scenes work. She's always texting his contacts for him, making sure that nothing falls through, I really can't sing her praises loud enough. 

John is completely and totally lost for Sherlock. I have no idea how the man manages to hide it from the beanpole. Wait, yes I do, sweet army doctors that look like John don't usually fall in love with both men and women. At least, not the ones like us. We're all business and propriety, sharp angles and words, uncomfortable in our own skin and the society of everyone around us. Men like John don't fall in love with creatures like us. 

Enough with the pity party, we're strangers to the world, we deal with it in our own ways.

Mick and Anthea pulled up to the crime scene in a rather luxurious limousine, instead of waiting for the driver to open the door for us, I impatiently pulled open the door and hopped in next to Anthea.

"Aya! Let me finish this text really fast!" She smiled and gave me a quick buss on the cheek before returning her attention to the glowing screen.

"You should let the driver do his job little one," Mick tapped my calf with his ever-present umbrella and gentled the admonition with a small smile.

"This was so much easier though, and see, now we can get pizza faster! It's a win-win situation," I grinned at my oldest brother and did a quick once-over, his tailor was getting old, he had neglected to properly fit my brother's trousers due to arthritis setting in, his housekeeper was down with a head cold, gardener had taken a shine to Anthea, spending less time at the Diogenes, worried about the economy in New Guinea. Oh poor brother mine. So much more going on with you.

"Mick, you really should start using different watches when you have to contact people in different time zones, that way you don't panic at the tailor's thinking you missed a business call."

"Yes, it's a habit I am attempting to break, but since I am unwilling to wear several watches on my arm I will just have to be more vigilant. Price we all have to pay isn't it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something particularly rude but John, in all his unknowing glory, interrupted.

"Wait," the blogger removed his head from his hands, "You haven't seen Mycroft for more than a minute, how could you possibly know that?"

"I see why you like him so much Sher," I grinned and pointed to Mick's trouser hem, "His tailor usually makes sure to double stitch his hem to make the fold last longer, but this time he was rushed and his hands were sore from his arthritis."

I moved my pointing finger to my brother's watch, "I also noticed his watch was set on the wrong time zone because he was up late sometime this week, maybe Thursday, talking to his contact over in New Guinea. Clued in now, John?"

His only reply was to open and close his mouth like a stunned fish, I turned to look at Sherlock, "Isn't he used to you yet? Why is he so startled?"

"It's just that Aya, he's used to me and Mycroft, you're a new addition to an old story, little bird, always have been," he winked and nudged my foot with his.

"Maybe I'm not an addition, maybe I'm a new book entirely. After all brothers of mine, I did study Astronomy, that makes me an odd duck indeed."

Anthea giggled, and John awakened from his reverie to crack a grin at my teasing. John schooled his face and took on a conspiritorial tone, "So, master astronomer, do we go round and round the garden like teddy bears?"

"I'm afraid not my expert medical practitioner, we go round and round the sun. Bet you didn't know that aye Sher? Mick?" I delivered a gentle kick to my brothers' feet then bolted out of the car to try and avoid their retaliation.

I almost made it to the door of the pizza place before being caught and swung up into the air, abruptly landing on the shoulders of my brothers. Now. Mycroft and Sherlock are both about 1.8m (6ft) I am SIGNIFICANTLY smaller than that. I'm only 1.6m (5'2") 20 centimeter difference, you follow me? Rounding up that's 8inches. I do NOT like heights. so sitting on my brothers shoulders I go from a comfortable 1.6m off the ground to over 1.8m off the ground. VERY SUDDENLY.

So screaming like a banshee and clutching onto my brothers' heads seemed like a good idea at the time. What I forgot about was how sensitive Sherlock is to his hair being pulled.

The bruise I have on my ass from falling is so worth the screaming wail that came out of his mouth. The cut on my ribcage from Mycroft's umbrella was not worth anything. But it was really funny to see him lose composure and try to catch us both. Still totally not worth it though. It hurts, even though John patched it up really well, it hurts and I'm allowed to complain.

Anthea pocketed her phone and bent down to pick up Mycroft, gently brushing off the dirt that had gathered on his jacket and trousers. John gently picked me up from Sherlock and gave me a quick once over to determine if I had sustained any life-threatening damage, there wasn't any (clearly), so he turned and carefully examined Sherlock for a concussion. The way John gently looked over my brother and tested for a concussion was, heart wrenching. He simply adored my brother, and Sher had no idea that it was anything more than John's kind heart.

My brothers are such lovable idiots, with such fragile hearts. They refuse to see anything that involves sentiment, insisting that sentiment was something we were better off without. I remember Redbeard though. I remember sentiment, and I refuse to let their charades go on for much longer.

John cleared Sherlock to stand and gently helped him up, quickly releasing him and turning away, unfortunately, he turned to face me. I smiled and looked at my brothers, "You guys go ahead and get us a table, John and I are gonna go buy some cigarettes at the corner store."

"Yeah, alright, you want your usual drink Aya?"

"Mhm, and pepperoni, John, what's your favorite pizza?"

The man stuttered, "Uh, uhm, I-I, pepperoni?"

Sherlock nodded and turned into the restaurant, leaving John alone with me. He was positively vibrating with nervous energy and jumped when I touched his shoulder. (He's a rather short man, only 1.67m, 5'6") "John, relax, I'm not going to say anything to him. Unless you decide to say nothing for the rest of your lives, then I'll be damned rather than stay silent."

John's face went slack with relief, "I just. How do you tell someone that incredible that someone as average and ordinary as you love them? It feels simply ridiculous. How can I make any sort of move without putting myself in an awful position, Aya?"

"You're gonna have to grow a pair and tell him dumbass." I fished out my wallet and slapped my ID and a tenner on the counter, telling the cashier the brand I wanted. I completed my purchase and turned back to the agitated doctor. "I'm sorry to put it in such callous terms but you're being a bellend."

His scowl deepened and I swear I heard him growl as he walked out of the corner store, I quickly followed after him, carefully placing a cigarette in my mouth before catching him.

"Easy tiger, I'm calling you out because you needed to hear it, not because I get off on hurting people's feelings. John," I gripped his arm and turned him to face me, "my brothers are idiots when it comes to thoughts of the heart. They can deduce who shagged who, for how long and when it occurred, but they have no idea how to make that happen in their own lives. They are afraid of emotion because they see how often it ends lives, careers, even countries. If Hitler hadn't had a temper tantrum we'd be speaking German right now, well, probably. Emotion is something they cannot predict. And they are awful at instigating relationships."

I could feel John's temper subside and his eyes softened, "Can you at least help me out a bit?"

Grinning, "Sure, here's a little hint, are you ready?"

The doctor nodded eagerly, I could feel his pulse increase with excitement.

"He's bisexual, just like you! And Shakespeare, and Anne Frank!" I laughed hysterically as I smoked my cigarette, "Ah Johnny boy, this is gonna be hell for you."

The poor man's face was one that simply said, "I am completely and totally finished with your bullshit lady. Fuck you."

I clapped him on the shoulder, pitched my cigarette and escorted him back into the pizza parlor, "Turn that frown upside-down mister cranky shorts, else brother dear might think something's wrong!"

Anthea waved us over to the table where Sherlock and Mycroft had already begun to argue over some obscure childhood dilemma, but my pizza was there and that's all that mattered to me.

Pizza is amazing, okay? Especially after a seven hour flight with my mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing Aya a bit more scattered and childish because 1 she kind of is and 2 jet lag is a biiitch. that and because that's just her nature. Changing up the tense because it makes more sense this way, sorry I broke the cardinal rule of writing!


	3. Oh Bother Brother Bear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aya gets her pizza, John has feels, Mycroft gets upset and our Baker street boys want to go home.  
> 2/21/17-I'm changing the relationship dynamics :/ I'm sorry my friends!!

"That was entirely your fault! I was nowhere near the kitchen, I was in the study practicing violin with Aya!" Sherlock pivoted in his seat to glare at me, "Will you please tell Mycroft I was in the study!"

"Sher, I was eight months old when this happened. There's no way in hell that I could remember. Besides, later the nanny admitted that she had set the microwave on fire. She quit soon after that, at least that's what Dad told me," I raised a curious eyebrow, "Besides, why are you two arguing about this incident again?"

Sherlock growled and crankily folded his arms over his chest, "Doesn't matter."

"Oh you've convinced me Sher," I nudged him with my elbow, "Hey! Did my information about hunting calls help in that Boscome Valley case? I'm rusty about Australian dialects and terminology but what you asked was fairly basic."

Anthea snapped her head up at the mention of Australia, she had always wanted to go there, ever since she was a little girl, Mycroft has wanted to take her since he found that piece of information (thanks to yours truly). I'm probably going to steal his account information and buy them tickets. But that's not important. Mycroft wanted to give his best friend the world, has the capability and capital to do so, but really has no idea how to actually have a friend.

I returned my attention to Sherlock, who had ignored my lapse in focus and instead uncrossed his arms, "It gave me better insight to the suspects and victim, but was not vital in solving the case, though I do thank you for answering my text promptly."

I shrugged, then gave a little glare, "So translation is, wasn't very important information, but thank you for answering my text at four in the morning even though you had finals all day?"

Sherlock let a small smirk twitch across his lips, "There is a chance you are correct in your deduction."

"Oh I'm gonna smack that smirk off of your face, you're such an ass! Mycroft! Sher-Hey. Where's Mycroft?" I turned to complain to my oldest brother, but found his seat vacated and Anthea staring at her lap with an inscrutable expression.

"Anthea," I gently placed my hand over hers, "Anthea, where did Mycroft go?"

She gave a small joyless smile, "I don't know, he's been my boss for years now, has said in a hundred different ways how invaluable I am to him, and yet I can't take a personal day without him having a nervous breakdown.. I just had to, Aya, I'm sorry, but I resigned. Excuse me but I think I should go."

"Yeah, just, keep in touch okay? You still owe me a coffee alright? Take care Anthea, see you around." I let go of her hand and waited until she left the restaurant, then let my temper fly. "Merda!! Perché la gente è stupida oggi? Nessuno pensa attendere un cazzo di giorno!! Cazzo idiota!!"

I continued my ranting and cursing until Sherlock grabbed one of my hands and placed it flat upon the table. I stopped mid-curse and looked at my brother. He and I had a weird code, it involved three languages and hand signals, and Sherlock needed to speak to me.

"Aya, can we go to Baker street?"

I nodded and put £15 on the table, "John, can you do me a favor and cover the rest? That's all I really have on me until I go to the bank."

"Yeah, of course. Just give me the ten and I'll put it on my card," John stood and took our bill to the front counter, not even questioning the strangeness of our interaction, just moving along with the rest of life. No wonder Sherlock likes him so much.

I pocketed the fifteen to give John later, then walked out to the street with Sherlock to hail a cab. We stood at the curb and I looped my arm through his, "I like this boyfriend. You should keep him forever and get married and have lots of babies."

He snorted and smirked, "I love you sister dear, but you frustrate me with all your sentiment."

"It's not sentiment asshat, it's hope that you two stop pretending. Him with the whole 'not gay' bullshit and you with the whole 'I don't have feelings' bullshit."

 Sherlock said nothing, he only looked down at me and raised an eyebrow, I maturely responded by sticking my tongue out and raising my hand to alert the cabbie coming down the road. "You know I'm right, you see it, and catalogue it, but refuse to truly observe," I winked and opened the cab door, "scaredy cat."

Sherlock huffed indignantly, "I am not scared! Don't you remember half of the things that I did with the whole Moriarty fiasco?!"

"Sher, that wasn't you being 'not scared'. That was you protecting us. All of us. Being courageous and selfless because you _love_ us. Not to prove you're not a coward. It was because you knew that something horrible would happen if he was allowed to continue his rampage." I paused and looked my brother in the eyes, "You are unavoidably human that way."

He opened his mouth in refusal but John walked out of the restaurant with a to go bag in his hand, "They made me take home the leftover pasta. I hope you're happy Sherlock," He slid into the cab and closed the door behind him, giving the address to our cabbie and leaning back in his seat.

"I love leftovers so it's more 'I hope you're happy Aya' which I am thank you for asking," I gave John my classic Cheshire cat grin and stretched my legs out over my brother's, closing my eyes for just a moment.

~~~

When I woke up, I was in Sherlock's room at 221B. My shoes and glasses had been removed, and I didn't feel my phone. I clicked on the bedside lamp and sat up, checking the clock as I stood. The numbers made me aware that it was around four in the morning, and that I was never going to get over my jet lag.  

I carefully opened Sherlock's door and quietly tiptoed through the hallway, my brother never really sleeps but I'm almost certain his flatmate enjoys a solid night of dreaming. I made my way into the kitchen without incident and put the kettle on for tea. Sherlock refuses to admit it but he has a huge weakness for tea. From blood orange herbals to earl grey lavender, he's tried them all, and passed on his love for tea to me. We'd be up all night while I was in secondary school, half-heartedly answering homework questions that bored us both, but enjoying the time together.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the counter and let myself be lost in the memories of my childhood. Learning music with Sherlock, being taught music by Sherlock, learning world history from Mycroft, pestering both of my brothers when they didn't come home on holidays, the first time I attempted to bring a boy over for dinner… I laughed at that catastrophe. The poor boy didn't talk to me for a year after he ran from the house screaming about psychic demons. When I was young, I thought they were trying to ruin my life, now that I've grown up, I realize that they were trying to protect me. They loved me with all their hearts and wanted the best for me, their methods of doing so could use some work though.

My memories were so vivid that I didn't notice the sound of someone walking into the kitchen until they cleared their throat to announce themselves. I jumped and started to reach for a weapon before realizing it was just John, standing in sensible slippers and a dressing gown, wondering who the fuck was laughing in his kitchen.

He looked startled and also very confused, staring at me as if he saw something different. I went to adjust my glasses and felt no plastic frames, my glasses were still on Sherlock's bedside table. Not really surprising that I forgot them though, I don't need glasses, I just hate how people seem scared of my eyes being different.

"Your eyes, are they always this color?" he moved closer, curiosity etched across his face as he clicked on the overhead light to get a better look. 

"Yes, they've always been purple, well, technically they're 'violet' but that sounds pretentious and mine are much darker than most people with violet eyes." I tried not to blink as he examined my irises, smiling when I heard him muttering about the Holmes family confusing the hell out of him. His examination was only a minute or two long, and it wasn't tinged with disgust or fear, just curiosity. So when John turned to get a cup of tea for himself I grabbed a small penlight out of a drawer, tossing it to him when he turned back around.

"If you shine a light in my eyes they change," I grinned and moved to Sherlock's chair by the fireplace.

"What d'you mean? Are you talking about how your pupil dilates or the color?" he followed and put his tea on the coffee table before sitting down.

"I mean, they change. Now shut up and shine the light in my eyes blogger boy."

He glared at the nickname and carefully clicked the penlight on, shining it in my right eye. "Holy shit."

"I know right, isn't it cool?" I grinned as John saw my pupil dilate, and the purple fade into pale blue around the middle, "it has to do with the musculature in my iris, the pigments are really weird. It's complicated but kind of boring so I deleted most of the details."

John laughed and clicked off the torch, leaning back in his chair and lifting his mug to his lips,"You Holmes' and your deleting information. Sherlock is brilliant with that. Completely forgot about one case that he couldn't solve. When Lestrade brought it up one day he was baffled, had no idea who the woman was! Brilliant…"

"I don't know what Sherlock is going to do when you stop being so baffled by his intelligence." 

The older man stopped mid sip and let his smile slide away, "I don't know what I'll do that day, Aya."

"What day is that?" Sherlock dramatically opened the door and placed his ever-present coat on the rack.

I refused to answer, taking a deep drink of my tea instead, John just stammered and blushed under his tan before blurting out "There's tea in the kitchen!" and excusing himself from the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my Italian is so shitty and I sincerely apologize, but the general translation of the italian Aya spews is "Shit!! Why are people so fucking stupid today? Nobody thinks to wait a fucking day! Fucking idiot."


	4. Oh Crumpets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is bluebell3 and this is your PSA that I am writing about past self-harm for Aya and Sherlock's drug use in this chapter. I have in fact dealt with and experienced self harm myself and with others. It's horrible and hard and it's something that you should never ever try to belittle or write away as "attention seeking". because it's an outward expression of an inward battle.
> 
> Be kind to everyone, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Sherlock promptly ignored his flatmate's odd behavior and made his tea, just sugar, no cream and sat in John's recently vacated seat.

"You should really talk to him Sher. He's rather intelligent in his own regard, please Sher, let him know. Let him-"

"-Aya I don't want to talk about this right now. I love you, little bird, but no."

I gave him a petulant look and took another drink of tea, letting the silence settle around us before opening my mouth again, "Sherlock, where did you go while I was asleep?"

A nonchalant shrug preceded his voice, "Went to the Yard to give Lestrade a better idea of the crime today, checked in with my network, cleared my head for a while." His voiced trailed off towards the end as he saw my grin,

"You went to dance didn't you Sherlock, OH YOU DID!" I leapt from my chair, barely managing to put my tea on the side table and started to poke and tease my brother.

Another fantastic secret about Sherlock is that he is terribly ticklish, I mean, you breathe on the man's skin and he squirms like a worm on a hook. He can handle torture and punishments but if you really want information, bring out the tickle guns.

The resulting skirmish ended with both of us having tickle-induced spasms, another bruise on my butt, a very irate Sherlock and a confused John who had come downstairs after my beautiful combination of multilingual swearing jolted his army instincts into action.

He smirked at the ridiculous scene in front of him, I was sprawled on my ass on the living room floor, and Sherlock was curled in John's chair like a petulant child, arms and legs carefully tucked against his torso as protection from anymore tickling.

I stuck out both my hands to John as a request for him to help me up, he acquiesced without complaint and easily lifted me off of the floor and onto my feet. "I take it you lost?"

"Mm-mn," I shook my head, dark red curls flying around my head, "I won, Sherlock went dancing without me."

 With lightning speed my brother unfurled his limbs and grabbed me by my hips, pulling me closer in order to tickle me into silence, but it was too late, in-between giggles and attempts to break free I could tell that John was processing the information of the great William Sherlock Scott Holmes doing anything so frivolous as dancing.

"He-AH STOP!-bet me that-YOU JERK AHHAHA!-I lost the bet and-THAT TICKLES!-I had to get a degree in dance-" the remainder of my "secret" degree story dissolved into uncontrollable laughter and nearly kicking the coffee table over, but the story was out and John smugly sat in my now-vacated seat to smirk at the great Sherlock Holmes and his twenty-two year old sister fighting in the safest way we know.

Eventually our giggles subsided and turned into the quiet protective hug that few people will ever receive from my brother. John stood and announced his intention to shower and get his day started, then quietly left us in the pre-dawn grey. I listened to my brother and watched London stir into complete awareness. This was the calm before the storm, the time where Sherlock and I were able to be completely still for just a little while. I closed my eyes against the creeping dawn and remembered all those years ago when I nearly lost my best friend and ally. Sherlock had kept his addiction secret through most of my time in secondary school. The night of my fourteenth birthday was the day that he nearly died, and I was the one that found him.

Mycroft told me that night in the infirmary that I was probably the only reason he was going to survive this, and I had to convince Sherlock that he needed to go to rehab. I stayed in that room all night, unmoving, daring someone to interrupt my silent wait. He woke in this same pre-dawn grey. The world was silent, bleak and nothing moved. I had rolled up my shirt sleeve, shown him the angry cuts on my forearm and said "I'll go if you go."

And we went. And we got better. A lot better. Mycroft covered us both from hoards of prying eyes with a giant umbrella (literally and figuratively at times). Big brother is watching, but with much gentler eyes than the government ever could.

"Aya, you're thinking about it again," Sherlock's baritone reverberated into my skull and I returned to complete awareness like the city around us.

Sherlock had tightened his arms around me and I could feel tears that had slipped from my eyes down my neck, I squeezed back in kind when I realized that I wasn't the only one remembering my fourteenth birthday. We could have been twins in another life. Two people so similar, the same to their very core, never mind the fact that we're twelve years apart, we're two of a kind.

John came back from his shower, hair still wet, but in sensible clothes. He began making breakfast, scrambling eggs in a pan and starting toast, calling to us from the kitchen that it was supposed to be warm and sunny today and we were going to go somewhere fun to enjoy the day, Sherlock and I both unfurled ourselves from the armchair, looked at John for about five seconds before we both said "Brighton?"

"Damn you both, stupid psychics the lot of you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love the idea of Sherlock having a younger sibling that he loves more than life and them being "twins". That's pretty much my favorite thought.


	5. SHOTGUN!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beach day! Aya loves to swim, Sherlock not so much. John just likes to watch them be them, and loves seeing a different side of Sherlock. Maybe the brilliant, impossible, madman could be more approachable than he thought? Aya drags Mycroft in as well. This will be fun.
> 
> (Sorry it took so long for me to post and that it's so short!)

"SHERLOCK, KICK IT INTO GEAR OR I'M RUINING YOUR EXPERIMENTS!" I yelled in the general direction of the bathroom while packing a spare swimsuit from the trunk of clothes I kept in Sherlock's closet. (The result of many arguments with Mycroft, I usually ended up wherever Sherlock was living when I was in a foul mood). I heard grumbling and movement and took that as a victory.

I twisted my still damp hair into a messy braid, squirming as the excess water dripped down my back, streaking my white long sleeved shirt. I snapped on my belt over a pair of dark jean shorts and slid my feet into my converse before grabbing my purse out of my knapsack. I double checked that I had my phone in my back pocket, grabbed my purple jumper and the bag John and I had packed for Sherlock before banging on the bathroom door to make him aware I was going downstairs.

John was already there, asking Mrs. Hudson if she would mind loaning him some beach towels and again asking if she would change her mind about not joining them. "I'm quite sure dear. Brighton may not be that far away but I'm quite sure I'll let you all have your day of fun without me slowing you down."

Mrs. Hudson saw me over John's shoulder and winked conspiratorially, knowing that I had plans to push the odd couple together. I winked back and nudged John slightly to the side so I could hug her better, "Next time Mrs. Hudson, you have no choice but to join us, and you're coming to my ridiculous party next Saturday, no excuses, I need someone sane there."

She laughed and tucked a stray hair back behind my ear, "Alright dear, but I'm bringing a present."

I smiled and hugged her tightly again, knowing the façade of her frailty, Mrs. Hudson was strong as hell. She kept Sherlock in check, John sane, Mycroft complacent and me very well informed. We both mutually ended the embrace and I turned to yell up the stairs, "SHERLOCK. ASS. DOWN HERE. NOW!"

John winced in what was almost appreciation at the volume I reached while hollering up the stairs, the wince turned into an appreciative nod when Sherlock appeared not even thirty seconds later. I grinned wickedly when John actually realized what Sherlock was wearing.

"You own jeans??" there was a strange mixture of arousal, confusion, frustration and shock on the doctor's face,

"Yes, why is this surprising? I have a variety of clothing for undercover work, jeans not being the most surprising article I own. Honestly I thought you would have figured that out by now, John." Sherlock adjusted the charcoal grey henley, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows and looking back at his flabbergasted flatmate.

"Enough yammering, asses outside!" I casually swung a kick at John's rear, prompting him to move towards the door, then continued the motion til my right foot landed squarely on Sherlock's arse.

He barely moved, and I hardly put any force behind the kick, but he still raised an aristocratic eyebrow disapprovingly and flicked my shoulder lightly. Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and tsk'd, "No sparring in the hallway. Honestly Sherlock, you're supposed to be the older one."

I just grinned before grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him outside where John was already waiting, and (not surprisingly) arguing with the driver that had brought my car. I loved my car, Mini Cooper S convertible, all kinds of extras, in pepper white. It's my favorite car.

"I'm telling you we didn't order a car, so please stop insisting that I get in the damn car!"

"Sir, please, I'm only-"

"Timothy, it's alright, I didn't tell him that you were bringing me my car, he's very protective you see," I looked around for one of Mycroft's black cars, and when I saw there weren't any around I turned to my driver, "Timothy, where is Mycroft? I texted him and told him to come here at nine."

My driver paled and coughed artificially, "He-er-Mr. Holmes said he is disinclined to partake in a mundane familial cliché and is-uh-demanded elsewhere."

As I grinned he paled more, Sherlock smirked, and John muttered, "Oh great, she does it too."

"He's at the house?" I stepped closer to Timothy, knowing the answer before he could speak, "Excellent, everyone get in the car, I'm driving."

John was too slow to react to Sherlock's panicked look to shout out shotgun before the detective did, and resigned himself to the back seat with the panicked Timothy, I jumped into the drivers seat after stowing my bag and Sherlock's in the back. I pulled my cellphone out as I started the car, letting the bluetooth in the car recognize the device before selecting a Pandora station. Volbeat poured out of the speakers as I buckled up, checking to see that all the guys had buckled up.

I grinned and took off, John swearing like he was back in the desert, threatening Timothy with fates worse than death if he hurled. Sherlock and I laughed as adrenaline and joy flooded our neurons.

I took shortcuts that no one really knew about and at speeds that are nowhere near safe. In what seemed to be seconds I pulled up to our house. Timothy bolted out of the car before hurling, and John stoically attempted to get out without showing that he was shaking from head to toe.

I grinned to Sherlock, he rolled his eyes and hid a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so literally two years later and I'm back here again, if you're still reading this I hope you have a great year!


End file.
